


come home to my heart

by mission_possible



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mission_possible/pseuds/mission_possible
Summary: Sana has a heavy Japanese accent and gets bullied by the other kids, but Dahyun can't really hear it.Saida growing up.





	come home to my heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt at fluff, so I apologize in advance for mistakes/cringe.

_Four_

 

Dahyun’s favorite day was Wednesday. Not Friday, like the other kids who hated school; nor Saturday, like her rowdy brother who would play outside all day. Not even Sunday, the day her father used to relax and rest from work.

 

No. Dahyun liked Wednesday, because Wednesday was the day her mother would take her to the park. Dahyun liked going to the park. She liked this one spot, far away from the other kids, where she could sit and play with the flowers. It was a small patch of grass––always soft, always cool––and the flowers drew her in. There were red flowers, and yellow flowers, and pink and purple flowers. Some flowers had a lot of petals, while some only had three or four. She didn’t like to pick them; she was smart enough to know that plucking them meant they would die, so she just thumbed the petals and admired them from a distance. None of the other kids would bother her, and Dahyun got to play with her flowers. Sometimes she’d get up and run to her mother, who was sitting under a shady tree reading. She’d bring her mother over and show her the most beautiful flower she could find. Her mother would always smile wide, telling her what kind of flower it was (her mother was a flower expert) and a cool fact about it. She’d always tell Dahyun how pretty it was. Then she’d call Dahyun her pretty little flower and pepper kisses all over her cheeks. Wednesdays made Dahyun feel warm and happy and loved. 

 

On one Wednesday, during the summer, Dahyun’s flower patch was particularly inviting due to its bright, pretty colors, and slight shade by an overhead tree. It was like her secret little hideout. The breeze was warm against her skin, and the flowers glowed in the glowing light. Dahyun couldn’t be happier.

 

Then suddenly a ball rolled towards her and a figure blocked the sun from her face, taking away her warmth. Dahyun immediately looked up. The figure stood amongst the clear, blue sky; her beauty matched that of the sky above them.

 

“Hi.” The girl said shyly, but Dahyun didn’t respond. She was still gaping at her, wide-eyed and jaw dropped.

 

Dahyun had never really talked to other kids before. She had seen them playing in the park, wide smiles and energetic movements. But always from a distance. Dahyun couldn’t understand how they constantly ran around and never got tired. It was fascinating to watch them communicate, and everyday Dahyun wondered what their laughter sounded like. This girl was one of those kids. Her cheeks were flush from playing around so much, and there were grass stains on her bare knees. Her hair was in two pigtails, and she had a bright pink shirt on. She was very pretty.

 

“Can I have my ball back?” The girl said slowly, but again, Dahyun didn’t respond. 

 

They kept staring at each other for another few seconds before the girl quickly reached down to grab the ball and then ran away back towards the other kids.

 

The _other_ kids. 

 

Dahyun turned her attention back to her flowers. A light pink one with three petals stood out to her. She inspected the flower, then looked up at the girl, and saw no difference.

 

 

 

_Five_

 

Dahyun didn’t know why her mother was gone. Her father just told her she was “gone”, and when Dahyun asked when she was coming back, he said she wasn’t.

 

That made Dahyun sad. She didn’t know where her mom went, but she wanted her to come home now. She wanted her mom to come home so she could go to the park with her, and get flower kisses, and cook together on Sunday nights. 

 

It’s been five days. Her mother still hasn’t come home. They were supposed to go to the park soon, and Dahyun was worried she wouldn’t be back in time.

 

And now she had to go to “school”. Dahyun knew she was a little different from other kids, but when she started school, she realized she was _a lot_ different. Dahyun didn’t like school. She didn’t like how kids would talk and look at her, but she couldn’t understand them. She didn’t like how everything was just confusing. She didn’t like how although it sounded quiet, it looked loud. Dahyun didn’t want to go to school; Dahyun wanted to go home. Dahyun wanted to see her mom. Dahyun wanted to go to the park and play with the flowers. They were supposed to go to the park.

 

When Dahyun went to school, she saw that girl again. That flower girl from the park that never left her memory even though last nights dinner did. Somehow, looking at the flower girl made Dahyun feel a little bit better. She looked so happy when she smiled (that didn’t happen often though; Dahyun didn’t know why she wasn’t smiling like the other kids). She sat two tables away from Dahyun, never really talking as much as the other kids either. Dahyun liked that part. Talking was stupid. People didn’t need to talk. 

 

Dahyun never liked the learning part of school––the part where they made her write her name, or…well, that was really all the teacher could make her do. She couldn’t play in the spelling contest with the other kids or participate when they all went to the music room to play instruments and sing. But what Dahyun could do, and what she loved to do the most, was draw.

 

Dahyun drew a lot during school (even during times that she wasn’t supposed to). She always drew flowers. It’s not like she didn’t know how to draw other things (Dahyun was _actually_ very good at drawing lots of things), it’s just that she didn’t want to. She’d draw the pink flowers she saw, and the yellow flowers too. Some of her flowers wouldn’t have very many petals, but some would have a lot. All of them looked beautiful. 

 

When the whole class was instructed to draw, Dahyun would take out a piece of paper and all of her markers––without colors, Dahyun couldn’t make the flowers look as beautiful as they truly were––and she would draw. Dahyun didn’t know why, but looking at the flower girl two tables down helped her remember all the different types of flowers.

 

Dahyun would be in the middle of drawing a yellow flower, but then she’d look up at the flower girl and get a sudden urge to draw a pink one. Pink like the shirt she was wearing. Pink like her cheeks from all the running. Pink like the scrunchies in her hair. Pink like that flower she showed her mom. They were supposed to go to the park. Pink was all Dahyun could think about when she saw the girl.

 

Pink flowers were starting to become her favorite.

 

 

 

_Six_

Dahyun’s mom still hadn’t come back. She realized now that she wasn’t going to come back, but as long as Dahyun didn’t think about it a lot, she wouldn’t cry. (She still cried a lot, though. Almost every day). 

 

Dahyun thought that the more she went to school, the easier it would get, but the learning got harder and the kids got meaner. Whenever they were learning to write, Dahyun had to focus extra hard to read the teacher’s lips, but the other kids would constantly tap her shoulder to distract her and make a funny face at her.

 

That made Dahyun want to cry even more. She didn’t understand the teacher, and she didn’t understand why the kids were mean to her. She never talked to them, or did anything mean back, yet they still made fun of her. 

 

Dahyun was getting better at reading lips too; she knew the things they were saying about her.

 

So at recess, Dahyun would get as far away from everyone else as she could. The flowers at school weren’t as pretty as the ones at the park, but flowers were flowers. They reminded her of her mom. Her mom and the park and the flower kisses. Dahyun was _her pretty little flower_. They were supposed to go to the park. It’s been a while, and Dahyun worries that the flowers are gone now. 

 

_Why is she gone now too?_

 

It was just another day at school: the academics were hard, the kids were mean, Dahyun missed her mom, and she just wanted to get away. She went to her usual spot during recess, and sat down. She began to take deep breaths. She remembered her mom telling her that if she closed her eyes and relaxed really hard, she could “hear” her heartbeat. (The first time it happened it scared Dahyun). But she was getting good at it. So she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, and eventually she felt her heartbeat pulse throughout her body. She wasn’t so different really. Her heart would beat on and so would those of the other kids. She opened her eyes and noticed a patch of flowers in front of her. She gently caressed each one, noting all of their slight differences. 

 

Then she saw a pair of familiar pink shoes (with the Hello Kitty laces) in front of her, and she looked up.

 

Flower girl.

 

Her heartbeat faded.

 

Flower girl didn’t say anything. She just waved excitedly with a gleaming smile. Dahyun slowly (and dumbly) mimicked the gesture. Flower girl wordlessly sat down next to Dahyun (without asking for permission), and Dahyun shyly returned her focus back to her flowers, currently counting the petals on the yellow one in front of her, trying not to sneak curious glances over at the pretty girl next to her. She lost count and had to start again. It had seven petals––she remembered her mother telling her about this exact flower. What Dahyun would give to listen to that story again.  

 

She then felt a tap on her shoulder, and her attention was drawn to a pink flower in the girl’s hands.

 

“No!” Dahyun shouted at the girl, startling her. Dahyun had never spoken at school––and she rarely spoke at home. But this…this anger immediately overcame her because she didn’t expect flower girl to do something so _cruel_ like that. It was almost like she trusted flower girl––like she knew she was different from the other kids; kinder and gentler––but then she went and did that. It was selfish, and Dahyun didn’t want to believe that flower girl would do something so selfish. Dahyun remembered the first time she tried to pick up a flower to show it to her mom. Her mom didn’t yell at her like Dahyun yelled at flower girl; her mom just asked her “why would you kill something so beautiful when you can let it live for others to admire?”. She now finds herself asking God (or the Gods, if there’s anything really out there) that same exact question. 

 

Dahyun never picked another flower again. 

 

“S-sorry.” Flower girl finally replied, her wide, doe eyes expressing genuine regret.

 

Dahyun froze, reading the harshness of her reaction on the girl’s frightened features. She made that same mistake too, once. And she wasn’t evil, her mother had said, she just found something so beautiful and was overcome with happiness that she wanted to share it. Dahyun slowly held the flower in flower girl’s hand, rubbing the petals and examining where the stem broke off.

 

 _It’s going to die now._ _It was so beautiful_. _She’s gone. And she’s not coming back._

 

Dahyun grabbed the flower, examining it for another moment longer, before deciding to give it back to flower girl. It served no purpose now except to look beautiful, so it seemed fitting for the girl as beautiful as the flower itself to have it.

 

The flower girl cautiously took the flower from Dahyun’s hands, noticing how their fingertips touched. She placed the flower behind her ear.

 

Dahyun will never forget that image. It’s burned into her brain. 

 

They didn’t talk anymore, and both turned around, backs touching.

 

But after a few minutes, the flower girl tapped Dahyun’s shoulder to get her attention again, and this time pointed at a pretty flower, instead of picking it up.

 

 

 

_Seven_

 

Dahyun wished her mom was here. She never liked going to the doctor, and she hated how they tried to explain the confusing concepts about her disability.

 

Deaf.

 

Unable to hear.

 

The word didn’t make sense. It just made Dahyun feel like she was a mistake.

 

Dayhun may not have to talk to communicate at home, but at school, no one really understood sign language. There were a few teachers who could understand basic questions (as per the nagging from Dahyun’s father to provide nondiscriminatory education), but overall, if Dahyun wanted something, she had to vocalize it.

 

Flower girl had a name. On the first day of first grade, all the students were instructed to write their name on a piece of paper to put on their desks, and everyday, Dahyun would try and peak at flower girl’s desk to read her name. Then one day, as Dahyun walked into school early, she passed by her desk and saw, in curly, pretty letters:

 

 _Minatozaki Sana_.

 

Of all the kids at school, Sana was the only one who hadn’t teased Dahyun, or made a face at her, or over-exaggerated her lips when talking to her. She was the only person who was nice to Dahyun. The other kids had all reached the age where they knew what being deaf meant, but they didn’t understand anything about it. So they constantly nagged Dahyun, teasing her and asking rude questions out of blunt curiosity. Not Sana, though.

 

Last year, every day of kindergarten, Sana would sit with Dahyun and look at flowers. They never spoke, only pointed at the ones they found prettiest. Dahyun wondered if Sana was just a quiet person, or if she was getting bullied by the other kids too. Her name was weird and didn’t sound Korean. She rarely spoke, but she wasn’t deaf like Dahyun. 

 

They were in the first grade now, and their tradition of sitting together during recess remained (Dahyun didn’t know why she was so relieved when Sana found her at recess).

 

Sana was really pretty. She reminded Dahyun of the flowers, but also of her mom. Dahyun’s mom was really pretty too (even _prettier_ than flowers). Can you even imagine someone being prettier than flowers? Well, that was Dahyun’s mom.

 

Sana and Dahyun sat at lunch together too, and although they didn’t really talk, they would often play games. Dahyun liked staring contests, because she would always make Sana laugh (Dahyun really liked watching Sana laugh) and then the girl would blink and lose. Sana liked tic-tac-toe, because Dahyun was really bad at it. She always tried the same strategy and lost every time.

 

Sometimes on the corner of the paper, Sana would write something to Dahyun. Simple things like ‘hi’ or even just a smiley face. Dahyun would grab the pencil and scribble something back (in barely legible handwriting). Dahyun would often write down one of her jokes her brother told her, and she would beam at the way Sana’s entire face lit up when she would laugh. Dahyun had a lot to talk about. She never realized how exciting it was to talk to Sana, even if they weren’t actually talking. It could be the simplest of things too: like Sana asking what Dahyun’s favorite color was. But to Dahyun, it was the first time she had ever been asked that question.

 

(Dahyun didn’t really have a favorite, but before she could answer, Sana would smile wide and pink flooded Dahyun’s mind. It had been pink since the day they met).

 

Sometimes the other kids would bother them, tease them or throw stuff at them, but Dahyun didn’t mind, because she wasn’t facing it alone anymore.

 

‘Why don’t they like you?’ Dahyun wrote on the paper one day, reading Sana’s features with a cautious gaze. The girl visibly deflated, writing down her response. Dahyun immediately felt bad and vowed to never make Sana sad again. 

 

‘I have an accent.’ She wrote slowly, in the same, neat, pretty handwriting that didn’t fit the girl’s pain.

 

Dahyun gently grabbed the pencil from Sana’s hand, writing her response:

 

‘I can’t tell.’

 

Sana’s frown was quickly replaced with a smile, and she rolled her eyes, playfully nudging Dahyun, who let out an audible laugh. Sana’s eyes widened at the sound. Dahyun had only spoken a few times, never once laughed. (The girl didn’t have much to be happy about). 

 

‘I like when you laugh.’ Sana quickly wrote, smiling up at Dahyun.

 

Dahyun wrote her response:

 

‘I like when you smile.’

 

 

 

_Eight_

 

School was starting to get really hard. Dahyun liked math the most, though. The teacher didn’t have to talk for Dahyun to understand it: numbers were an unspoken language. 

 

However, Sana hated math with a passion. She was really bad at it, and had to count on her fingers most of the time to get her answer. She liked reading more. Sana loved how people could make up stories in their head and then write it down for everyone to understand. Reading helped her learn Korean. Reading was how she was able to talk to Dahyun.

 

Apparently Sana liked singing too. Whenever they went to music class, Sana was always happy. She would always be the first to volunteer to take part in any activity, and Dahyun had never wanted to hear as badly as she did when she saw Sana singing. 

 

But Dahyun hated reading. She hated everything that had to do with speaking: reading, writing––language in general.

 

Dahyun and Sana quickly found that they could help each other out. 

 

So second grade became the year that instead of playing games during lunch, they’d help each other in their areas of weakness. The Japanese girl teaching the deaf girl Korean, and the deaf girl teaching the smart girl math. It was funny, in a way. Dahyun didn’t mind doing more schoolwork during lunch instead of taking a break to play games, because she was still with Sana.

 

Dahyun really liked Sana. She liked how nice Sana was, and how understanding she was. When Dahyun described to Sana what being deaf felt like, the girl only nodded and listened. She didn’t ask weird, confusing questions like the other kids. She also told Sana about her mom, and how it was really hard to describe how perfect she was. Sana just nodded, agreeing when Dahyun told her how amazing she was. Sana understood everything. 

 

Sana was Japanese, and that was why the other kids didn’t like her. Apparently she had an accent, and couldn’t speak Korean very well. Dahyun couldn’t either, though. 

 

One day when they were going over multiplication (Sana had the hardest time with the multiples of 12), she wrote down on a piece of paper:

 

‘I saw you and your dad making symbols to each other this morning. What is that?’

 

Dahyun took her pencil and scribbled a response.

 

‘It’s how we talk. It’s called sign language.’

 

Sana’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought about the idea of an unspoken language before; her horizon immediately broadened, and she was already imagining a realm of possibilities where her and Dahyun were _talking_. Dahyun noticed her eagerness and felt her heart bloom with warmth. 

 

“Teach me!” Sana shouted excitedly, causing Dahyun to laugh.

 

And she did. Dahyun abandoned the boring math homework, opting instead to teach Sana some phrases in sign language. She taught her ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and some of her favorite words like ‘flower’ and ‘beautiful’. Then Dahyun taught Sana to spell her own name, and something about watching the Japanese girl attempt to communicate with her made her heart grow bigger and warmer. When Dahyun was younger, she used to really hate being deaf. To console her, her mother promised her that she’d eventually meet someone outside of her family that she could sign with. If that meant Dahyun had to teach someone how to do it, then so be it.

 

And then Dahyun taught Sana some bad words, because none of the teachers knew enough sign language to know what they were doing. 

 

After school, Dahyun and Sana would walk home together––as Dahyun only lived a block from school, and Sana just two blocks further. Sometimes on their walks, they would run the whole way, playing tag, and sometimes they would stroll aimlessly, pointing at all the pretty flowers. If one was especially pretty, Dahyun would stop completely, pull out her notebook, and draw it, with Sana patiently observing. 

 

Sometimes if it was cold, Sana would reach for Dahyun’s hand and hold it, and Dahyun didn’t understand why it warmed her up so much. Other times, Sana would ask Dahyun to teach her more sign language, absorbing each phrase like a sponge. They could even hold a basic conversation now, and Dahyun was fascinated to be able to communicate with someone outside of her family in her most comfortable language. She smiled knowing her mother’s promise was never broken. 

 

When they reached Dahyun’s house, Sana would give her a big hug that made them both stumble and almost fall. Sana would tell her she’d see Dahyun tomorrow. Dahyun would always watch Sana walk off, a skip in her step and a bob of her head, wondering how she got so lucky to be friends with the pure joy that was Minatozaki Sana.

 

 

 

_Nine_

 

When Dahyun’s dad notices her squinting and struggling to read her own handwriting while he helps her with her homework one night, he takes her to the eye doctor the next day. 

 

And then the day after, Dahyun shows up at school with a thick, chunky pair of glasses. 

 

_Great, something else for the other kids to tease her about._

 

But as soon as Sana meets Dahyun’s gaze, her cheeks turn bright pink, and Dayhun doesn’t understand why. 

 

“Hi.” Sana says as Dahyun walks over after setting her backpack down. 

 

Dahyun smiles and waves. 

 

Sana points to her eyes with a confused look, and Dayhun tries to explain. 

 

“I can’t see.” She says slowly, trying to ignore the glance from another kid who can’t understand why her voice sounds like that. Heavy and hindered, like she has a huge wad of gum in her mouth. Sana is just as bad though, stumbling through poor pronunciation. 

 

“Oh.” Sana nods, staring intently at Dahyun. “You look pretty.”

 

Dahyun raised her eyebrows in surprise, not sure if she read Sana’s lips correctly. But by the shy, blushing expression on the other girl’s face, she must’ve. 

 

Dahyun didn’t really know how to react, so she just smiled at her best friend and returned back to her seat. 

 

Throughout the entire day, Dahyun couldn’t focus on what the teacher was saying, because all she could think about was Sana calling her pretty and wondering why it made her feel so good. Her mother always called her pretty, but it didn’t feel the same as when Sana said it. She couldn’t understand why whenever she thought about Sana calling her pretty, a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in her stomach––a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

 

When she got home from school, after saying goodbye to Sana, she immediately went to her room and began to draw. 

 

She wasn’t drawing flowers as much as she was when she was little, but this time she drew a light pink one. She drew the flower being held in a hand, spending an immense amount of time perfecting all the details in the hand. 

 

Only when she finished, back sore from being hunched over for so long, eyes stinging from the light, did she step back and realize what she drew. 

 

It wasn’t just a random hand; she recognized this hand, with the small scar between her ring finger and pinkie Sana got from falling once, and the tiny freckle on the outside of the thumb. This was Minatozaki Sana’s left hand, holding the pink flower she tried to give Dahyun almost five years ago in the park, on the day they met. 

 

Dahyun didn’t even do it on purpose–– _it just happened._

 

She didn’t get much sleep that night. 

 

 

 

_Ten_

 

Dahyun didn’t consider herself an artist, she just liked to draw. But when her dad walked into her room one day, his eyes went wide when he saw the realistic field of flowers she was currently painting. 

 

He teared up even, unable to explain to his daughter how strikingly similar she was becoming to his late wife. 

 

So that was how Dahyun started taking art lessons, and that was how Dahyun fell in love for the first time.

 

She took lessons once every week, on Thursdays after school. Her dad would pick her up and take her to her lessons. She wished it was her mom, though. Her mom always loved art and all things pretty. Hopefully she would be proud of Dahyun. 

 

She kind of felt bad though, for leaving Sana alone like that, but Sana had made a new friend: another Japanese girl, who was quiet like her. 

 

Dayhun was surprised at her lack of jealousy. She saw how other kids would get jealous so easily over trivial things. But Dahyun was happy that Sana had someone else she could communicate in Japanese with. Sana in Korea without someone to speak Japanese with would be like Dahyun having no one to sign with. 

 

At her lessons, her teacher, Mrs. Son, also knew sign language. Mrs. Son’s sister was deaf, and she made her whole family (even her daughter, who was about Dahyun’s age) learn it too.

 

Dahyun was entranced because, for one, she could hold an actual conversation in sign language with someone outside her family. Sana tried really hard, but Mrs. Son knew the language like it was her first. And for two, Dahyun was fascinated with learning everything she could about art.

 

“You have so much natural talent, Dahyun,” Mrs. Son signed, “so that means all I’m here to do is to help guide you along the way.”

 

Dahyun nodded eagerly with one of her rare, genuine smiles. 

 

She learned about everything from Mrs. Son. She learned about shading and lighting and placement and color palettes and foreground and background and perspective and everything. Dahyun learned everything but she still craved more.

 

She reasoned that she liked art so much because it was a language-less language. If that made sense. Everyone could understand it, yet you didn’t have to know it to get it. Everyone could look at art and see some sort of beauty. With art, Dayhun could communicate without needing her voice. 

 

Dahyun learned the word “prodigy” when she was at the dinner table with her family. She asked her dad what it meant, and he told her that it was someone who was gifted by god. 

 

Dahyun didn’t think she was a prodigy—she was ok at art; Mrs. Son and her other students were really good—but her dad told her that she was very gifted for her age. 

 

Dahyun still didn’t believe it. The idea that she had always been lesser than everyone else because of her deafness had been engrained in her since she was born. She never imagined being good at something. She was slow in school, wasn’t good at talking to other kids, and she was really bad at sports. 

 

It was a good feeling knowing she had some worth. She wondered if her mother would be proud. (That was really all that mattered to Dahyun).

 

Like Sana, art was beginning to plant its roots in Dahyun’s life. 

 

 

 

_Eleven_

 

Dahyun was nervous. Tonight, she was having the first sleepover of her life. But the fact that it was with Sana helped calm those nerves a bit. 

 

So when school let out, instead of stopping at her house, she walked the unfamiliar route with Sana all the way to her house. 

 

“My family doesn’t speak good Korean.” Sana signed, almost as a warning. Sana was getting better at her sign language. (No wonder, she made Dahyun teach her something everyday). Sometimes she’d sign an incorrect word, or she was clunky and confusing with her phrasing, but Dahyun couldn’t complain, because everyday, Sana got better and better at signing, and could hold a pretty advanced conversation. 

 

“Me neither.” Dahyun signed back with a cheeky grin, and Sana laughed. 

 

Sana’s house was one of the smallest ones in the neighborhood, with just one story and chipped, white siding. Sana quietly opened the door and took her shoes off, with Dahyun following suit. 

 

She greeted her parents and introduced Dahyun, to which the girl bowed formally. 

 

 _“Hello. Nice to meet you.”_ Dahyun attempted to say in Japanese. (It sounded really bad, because Dahyun had to go off of the syllables Sana had written down on a piece of paper). However the smiles on Sana’s parents’ faces told Dahyun that she didn’t do too bad. 

 

“Dinner will be in an hour.” Sana’s mom said to her daughter, to which Sana quickly signed to Dahyun. She also asked Dahyun if she wanted to go upstairs, and Dayhun nodded. 

 

Sana grinned and eagerly grabbed Dahyun’s hand, not allowing the girl to bow another time, pulling her upstairs. 

 

They approached Sana’s room, and Dahyun was suddenly, strangely nervous. She didn’t know what she expected—just pretty colors and good smells. Something cheery and happy like Sana. 

 

What she saw, however was mountains of books. Books filled all of Sana’s shelves, were scattered across the floor, and even shoved into the closet. Sana’s room rivaled their school’s library. 

 

“I read a lot.” Sana signed, blushing and looking down, embarrassed. 

 

Dahyun just smiled at Sana, continuing to look around. Most of the books were in Japanese. None appeared new; all appeared to be well-used.

 

“Do you miss Japan?” She signed to Sana, continuing to examine all the Japanese literature. 

 

Sana nodded. She looked around the room before finding a piece of paper. Her thought was a little more complicated than her ability to sign. 

 

She grabbed a pen from Dahyun’s outstretched hand and scribbled: 

 

‘Japan will always be my home. But Korea isn’t too bad :)’

 

Dayhun blushed when she saw the smiley face, remembering it was one of the first things the girl wrote to her.

 

“What do you want to do?” Sana signed. 

 

Dahyun shrugged. She honestly didn’t care, as long as it meant she got to hang out with Sana. They could do anything, and Dahyun would still be happy. They could even wash dishes or fold clothes or perform any other mindless chore and Dahyun would still be over the moon. 

 

They ended up doing what they seemed to do best: silently enjoying each other’s company. Sana picked up her place in her novel while Dahyun began to doodle on a piece of paper. They were laying side by side, shoulder-to-shoulder on Sana’s bed. 

 

In all of the movies that Dahyun saw, sleepovers meant pillow fights, prank calls, and talking about boys. This was nothing like that––the complete opposite, really––but somehow so much better. 

 

Sana tapped Dahyun’s shoulder, reaching for the pen in her hand. 

 

‘It’s beautiful.’ She wrote on the paper, commenting on Dahyun’s drawing. It was a field sunflowers with a girl facing away in the middle of the field. She had a flowy, straw hat on, her dark hair cascading in curls, giving the impression of a breeze. 

 

‘Who is she?’ Sana wrote, commenting on the beautiful girl facing away.

 

Dahyun shrugged. The girl wasn’t anyone really. Maybe she was just a combination of all the women in Dahyun’s life. She was her mother’s garden hat, and Sana’s chocolate locks, and Mrs. Son’s love for art. Maybe the woman was who Dahyun wanted to be, amongst nature and completely free. Maybe Dahyun’s was just overthinking everything. Sana made her do that often: think too much. (In a good way).

 

‘Just a girl.’ She finally wrote.

 

Sana rolled her eyes, at the typical brevity of pretending to be annoyedatDahyun’s typical, brief answer.

 

‘Well she’s very pretty.’ Sana wrote.

 

Dahyun blushed, embarrassed by Sana’s comment. (Sana was the only person who could make Dahyun blush; she was the only person who’s opinion mattered). No matter how many people complimented her art, she never really believed it. But Sana––Sana who was genuine and honest and kind and caring and––

 

She made her believe it a little bit. 

 

“What is that?” Dahyun asked aloud, pointing at Sana’s book. 

 

Sana showed Dahyun the title page. She explained that it was a collection of old Japanese folktales. This one was about two frogs from different parts of Japan who meet in the middle. Dahyun watched Sana’s intent expression as she wrote down her version of the story. She watched how Sana’s eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to find the right Korean words to express her story. Dahyun cared less about the story and more about how happy the Japanese girl was to share it. 

 

“Wow.” Dahyun again spoke. She liked talking with Sana. The girl wouldn’t make fun of her, and it was good practice. “What is your...favorite story?”

 

Sana paused, thinking for a moment, before shooting up off the bed and reaching for a book tucked deep underneath a stack on her dresser. It was a thin book with a worn leather cover. 

 

“This is how I learned Korean.” She signed, placing the book in front of Dahyun on the bed. “Do you want to read it?”

 

Dayhun nodded, opening the first page. 

 

They sat there in silence, reading the book together. It was a collection of Japanese love poems, with matching Korean translations. Dahyun could see Sana’s doodles in the margins of the page, ranging from hearts to underlines and footnotes on symbolism to little grammar phrases for guidance. Sana would finish the page quickly, and patiently wait for Dahyun to finish as well. She’d look up at Sana when she was done with a page, not understanding why she liked to look at her so much, and then they’d both reach to turn the page, fingertips touching. 

 

When they finished the book, Sana’s smile was a mile wide. She asked Dahyun if she liked it, and Dahyun (even if it were possible for her to hate something Sana loved) couldn’t say no to that smile.

 

Sana’s mother eventually called them down to dinner, and it was a traditional Japanese meal. The way Sana’s eyes lit up with pride and excitement for Dahyun to get to experience her favorite part about Japanese culture didn’t help to calm the increasing pace of Dahyun’s heartbeat, it only caused the warm feeling in her chest to grow bigger. 

 

It was an amazing meal, no surprise. And the smile on Sana’s face never once faltered throughout the whole night. 

 

After they ate, Dahyun thanked the parents in Japanese, before following Sana back upstairs. 

 

They watched some Japanese cartoons on the TV (with Korean subtitles) and they laughed together, cuddling under the same blanket. Sana payed less attention to the cartoons and more to Dahyun. (Which was shocking, because nothing ever came between the Japanese girl and her anime). 

 

Sana eventually asked Dahyun what it was like to not hear anything, and her response was the same as always:

 

Lonely.

 

Sana frowned, and Dahyun immediately felt bad. She tried to recover––there was just something so heartbreaking about seeing the cheerfulness fade from Sana’s eyes, even just a little bit. So she told Sana about how she could feel vibrations sometimes.

 

“How?” Sana sat up, determination taking over her features. Dahyun pointed to her chest.

 

“I can feel some things.” She signed. It was true. Sometimes when her brother was blasting his music she could feel some of the vibrations, or when she was breathing really hard she could feel her heart pumping. It didn’t happen often, but it was often a comforting feeling. 

 

And so their experiments began. Sana first tried by hitting Dahyun’s chest, to which the girl laughed and feigned pain. Then Sana turned the TV up really loud, and Dahyun could kind of hear some things (but she was lying a bit to try and make Sana feel better). That experiment ended when Sana’s parents yelled at them.

 

And that led them here: sprawled out on the floor amidst a collection of blankets with Sana’s head on Dahyun’s chest. The Japanese girl began to make all sorts of noises, anything she could think of that would possibly vibrate into Dahyun’s chest.

 

Dahyun’s entire body froze when Sana began to sing. She almost screamed in excitement. 

 

She couldn’t hear anything, and the vibration was so faint that Dahyun had to close her eyes and focus really hard to feel it. 

 

It was beautiful though. She felt like she was back in kindergarten, watching the girl sing her heart out in music class for the first time. Now she understood why the other kids were always so impressed. 

 

A smooth, unwavering vibration began to echo into her chest, and she saw Sana singing, head resting on her sternum. Dahyun’s heartbeat was getting louder and overcoming the girl’s voice, so Dahyun had to attempt to calm herself. 

 

Sana continued to sing for at least ten minutes, her throat grew sore but she didn’t care. She even had to revert to some children’s songs, because she ran out of things to sing. Dahyun didn’t mind though. She was beaming, smiling ear-to-ear; she finally got to hear Sana sing. It was almost too good to be true. 

 

Eventually Sana began to doze off, head remaining on Dahyun’s chest, still humming softly. 

 

Dayhun tried to ignore the way her heart was beating really fast. She tried to ignore the smell of Sana’s strawberry shampoo and the feeling of her soft warm breaths against her neck. She tried to ignore how happy she felt; how at peace she was, how warm, and content, and loved she felt.

 

It wasn’t hard to fall asleep that night (but she didn’t really want to). 

 

 

 

_Twelve_

 

Mrs. Son’s daughter was named Chaeyoung, and she was actually in the same grade as Dahyun and Sana. 

 

She was sweet and shy, and the fact that she knew sign language automatically made her a friend in Dahyun’s book.

 

Sana’s Japanese friend was named Mina, and she was impossibly quiet too. Sana introduced Dahyun to Mina, and Dahyun introduced Chaeyoung to Sana, and the four of them instantly became friends. 

 

Chaeyoung really liked art too, and at lunch her and Dahyun would always play a game where they would draw something and Mina and Sana had to vote whose was better. (It was always a tie: Sana always chose Dahyun and Mina always chose Chaeyoung). 

 

They were in middle school now, so the bullying was at its peak. Dahyun got bullied for being deaf (which angered Sana to no end), Sana for her accent (even though Chaeyoung assured her that it wasn’t even noticeable), Chaeyoung for her short hair (Mina insisted she looked really good with it), and Mina simply for her intelligence (she was smarter than the other three combined). 

 

It didn’t really matter, though. Dahyun couldn’t hear the insults and Sana could barely understand them. Mina and Chaeyoung, it seemed, held each other up like Sana and Dahyun. 

 

So throughout seventh grade, the four got really close. Close enough to sit together every day at lunch, be on the same teams during gym class, and even hang out on the weekends or after school. 

 

Their go-to spot was the library, at a secluded table in the corner: Sana and Dahyun would sit on one side, Mina and Chaeyoung on the other. 

 

They didn’t have to talk to have fun; that was what was so different about their dynamic. The unspoken communication was marvelous: a raised eyebrow from Dahyun to Sana or a simple nudge from Mina to Chaeyoung said more than enough. 

 

On one Saturday, the four planned to meet up at the library for a couple of hours, then head to Mina’s house which was right down the street. (It made sense that the smartest girl in school lived just steps away from the library). 

 

Sana and Dahyun were currently in a heated written debate about whether a hot dog was a sandwich or not. 

 

Sana wrote, ‘It’s totally a sandwich, it’s a piece of meat between bread. How is that not a sandwich???’

 

Then Dahyun would playfully scribble all over the other girl’s argument, causing her to audibly scoff. Dahyun would quickly write, ‘No it’s not. A hot dog is in a category of its own—‘

 

Sana would then snatch the pen from Dahyun’s hand and scratch all over her words. Soon the two girls were playfully shoving each other, attempting to mess up each other’s handwriting. 

 

(Neither noticed how Mina and Chaeyoung were quietly giggling to each other about how Dahyun and Sana were basically flirting). Eventually the librarian had to come by to quiet them. Sana and Dahyun continued to (subtly) tease each other, grinning like idiots. 

 

After the library, they all walked to Mina’s house, Chaeyoung and Mina leading the way and Dahyun and Sana in the back. Sana had her arm around Dahyun’s shoulders, holding her close in the chilly winter breeze. Sana’s motherly instincts had fit well into Dahyun’s life. Whenever she forgot her jacket or her lunch or her homework (which happened often), Sana was there to help. 

 

Dahyun and Sana’s physical relationship was slowly becoming more and more prominent. Sana was a physical person: she showed her affection and love through touch, and it made Dahyun’s heartbeat speed up and her cheeks turn red every time. She always ended up scolding herself for overthinking it. 

 

Mina’s parents were nice. Both of them were medical researchers and always busy in their offices, so the four were left to themselves most of the time. 

 

They’d go to Mina’s room and put makeup on each other (Dahyun would try not to dwell on how much she liked putting lipstick on Sana). Chaeyoung was the best at goofy makeup, always giving Dahyun the funniest looks. 

 

Then they’d watch a romantic Japanese movie. Sana and Chaeyoung were suckers for romance, and Dahyun and Mina put up with it because neither of them liked saying no. 

 

Mina and Chaeyoung were always the first to fall asleep, and even in their sleep they remained near each other.

 

So that left Dahyun and Sana to just talk. They could talk about anything––neither ever ran out of things to say to the other. They eventually broached the topic of growing up, and Dahyun asked Sana what she wanted to be when she was older.

 

“A singer.” Sana signed. Dahyun smiled, remembering fondly of all the times Sana would sing to her. She could easily be a singer; her voice was just too beautiful to pass up.

 

“I want to be an artist.” Dahyun answered when Sana asked her the same question. She didn’t have to think at all for her answer––she knew she wanted to draw for the rest of her life the first time she saw a flower.

 

“You’re going to be a great artist one day.” Sana signed with a smile. “You’re really good.”

 

“Thanks.” Dahyun blushed. “You’re a really good singer.”

 

Sana rolled her eyes. “Don’t make fun of me.”

 

Dahyun laughed loudly. “No, no! I’m serious! I can hear vibrations sometimes.” She signed through her laughs. 

 

Sana bit her lip, still unconvinced yet too tired to disagree with her best friend. 

 

“I could be a singer.” Dahyun wiggled her eyebrows and grinned at Sana’s skeptical gaze. “Watch.”

 

And then Dahyun was singing, and by the uncontrollable laughter escaping Sana’s mouth, she knew she was really bad. (She didn’t care, though, because the smile on Sana’s face was worth any embarrassment). 

 

A pillow was thrown in Dahyun’s direction by a grumpy Chaeyoung, who just frowned before returning to her position cuddling with Mina.

 

Sana and Dahyun stifled their laughs. Sana’s eyes were bright with happiness, and Dahyun had to bite her lip to stop a stupid smile from spreading on her face.

 

“I’m serious, though.” Dahyun finally signed. “Even an idiot like me can tell how good of a singer you are by the looks of awe on everyone’s faces.”

 

Sana was blushing furiously, but hopefully the darkness of the room hid it well. “Thank you.”

 

“One day I’m going to be a famous artist and you’re going to be the best singer and Mina and Chae will be living their dreams and everything will be perfect.” Dahyun signed almost too quickly for Sana to read, but she had become lost in her own head, and around Sana, it was impossible to hold back.

 

Sana’s grin was impossibly wide, and her only response was to pull Dahyun into a bone-crushing hug. 

 

 

 

_Thirteen_

 

Dahyun hadn’t even thought about having a boyfriend until her uncle jokingly brings it up at the dinner table one night. 

 

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

 

She tasted the unfamiliar word in her mind.

 

She’s never had a boyfriend, let alone a friend that is a boy. All she’s really had is Sana.

 

“What about a girlfriend?” Dahyun signs innocently, not understanding the weight of her question at such a young age. She’ll later regret this entire night, because it was this conversation that forced her to grow up. 

 

Everyone just stares at her awkwardly, and uncomfortably––almost angrily––before completely ignoring her question and moving on with the conversation. Even her brother doesn’t look up from his food. The tension is palpable, and it makes Dahyun miss her mother, the most she’s missed her since she’s passed. Maybe it’s just because Dahyun hadn’t thought about her in a while. Maybe it’s because her mother always handled these things best. 

 

Dahyun had been used to being shunned at school, but the experience at home, where she was most comfortable, was jarring and scary. She’s confused, and doesn’t know what to make of the situation, so like all other times she feels stupid, she asks Sana.

 

They started going to the park after school (on Wednesdays, of course). Something about the familiar place, the place where they met and grew up, could never escape either of their minds. Hanging out with Mina and Chaeyoung was always nice, but both Sana and Dahyun preferred the sole company of each other. They sat at one of the benches, in sight of their old flower patch. 

 

It takes a while, explaining the situation to Sana. (Dahyun is so desperate that she even talks a bit to clarify. She’s getting better at it, and she knows Sana would never make fun of her speaking voice).

 

Eventually, Sana understands. She pauses, figuring out the best way to phrase this. She writes:

 

‘Boys are supposed to like girls and girls are supposed to like boys.’

 

Dahyun read the neat script four times, forming each word on her mouth, trying to understand it.

 

“Supposed to?” She finally said aloud, finger pointed at the word. She didn’t look up at Sana, rather continuing to read the sentence over and over, hopelessly trying to wrap her head around it. 

 

Sana shrugged. And wrote again:

 

‘We like whoever we like.’

 

Dahyun’s eyes went wide as she read the words. 

 

She never thought of it like that. Before her uncle, she never thought about liking someone. Well, she liked Sana, but she liked her brother and her dad, and that one teacher that was always very nice to her. She liked Mrs. Son and her daughter and Mina. Sana stood out among them all, though. She liked Sana differently than she liked everyone else.

 

Did she like Sana how girls were supposed to like boys?

 

“Oh.” She said softly, more confused than before she asked the question. 

 

The rest of the day was a blur for Dayhun, her head swimming with confusion. 

 

When she got home, she went straight to her brother, her most trusted confidant, her supplier of (mostly true) information. 

 

He waved to her and asked her how she was doing in sign language. He wasn’t deaf, and Dayhun could read his lips, but he was the first one in the family to attempt to learn sign language for Dahyun after their mother suggested it. 

 

“What’s up?” He signed, motioning for her to come sit.

 

Dahyun’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and her mind still hadn’t cleared since her talk with Sana. If anything, it had gotten worse, because _did she like Sana like girls were supposed to like boys?_

 

“Can girls like girls?” She eventually signed quickly, almost secretly (like a signed whisper), anxiously reading his expression for any sign of anger. 

 

Her brother paused, and pressed his lips together in a firm line. He seemed troubled, and when he replied, Dahyun’s heart almost sank. 

 

“No.”

 

She just nodded slowly and said goodbye before essentially running back to her room.

 

She shut her door before allowing any emotions to rush over her. Only when she collapsed onto her bed did the exhaustion and confusion overcome her. 

 

She began to cry, but like always, silently. There were no sobs, and she wasn’t necessarily sad, just utterly lost. 

 

She looked up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin round and round. 

 

Sana said yes, but her brother said no. Surely her brother, the older, wiser figure in her life was right?

 

She wishes her mother was here. She wondered what she would say, and no matter what it was, would trust her reply above all others. Surely her mother, the kindest women she knew, the lover of all things beautiful, would have the most knowledge of love. She wouldn’t care about girls liking girls or even boys liking boys. _Right?_

 

It made Dahyun’s heart ache. This restriction on love didn’t seem right to her. Why did it even matter? Dahyun was deaf, but what if she was blind? Then it wouldn’t even matter the gender of the other person because she couldn’t freaking see it!

 

She began to think about Sana. Sana was so pretty, and every minute they were together, Dahyun found something even more beautiful about her to admire. She was pretty, and so kind and understanding, and Dahyun didn’t have to be hearing to know her voice was sweet and pure. How did it make any sense that the person that was the kindest to Dahyun wasn’t allowed to love her?

 

Sana really was a flower:

 

Dahyun couldn’t have her––she could only admire her beauty from afar. 

 

 

 

_Fourteen_

 

Sana was so beautiful that it was no surprise that she got a boyfriend as soon as they entered high school. 

 

Dahyun wishes she could hate him. She wishes he was a jerk to Sana (not really, but still) and she wishes he was mean as dirt, making fun of Sana’s accent or Dahyun’s disability, but he never did.

 

He was nice, and so sweet to Sana, and even Dahyun. _He tried to learn sign language for her._

 

But as much as Dahyun wants to hate this boy for taking away her best friend, she can’t, because every time she sees the way Sana’s face light up when she talks about him, she can’t bring herself to hate something that brings her best friend so much happiness. 

 

So on the days that Sana would hang out with her boyfriend, Dahyun was stuck third-wheeling with Chaeyoung and Mina. Usually it wasn’t too bad, but the empty seat next to her at the library made her lonelier than ever, and she missed Sana badly. She’d look up at Chaeyoung and Mina quietly giggling to each other about some inside joke, and just sigh with a heavy heart. 

 

It scared her how much Sana meant to her—how integral she was to Dahyun’s life.

 

On one Friday, it was just Chaeyoung and Dahyun—Mina had choir practice with Sana, who also had a date with her boyfriend after. 

 

Chaeyoung and Dahyun were headed to the library. Chaeyoung liked the manga, and the Japanese style of art (Dahyun found it suspicious that Mina, who was basically Chaeyoung’s idol, was an avid manga reader) and she would grab a book off the shelf and start drawing to practice the style. 

 

Usually Dahyun would read something with Sana, learning Japanese, but Sana wasn’t here, so she just began to draw as well. Her lessons with Chaeyoung’s mom were going well. Dahyun recently submitted a painting of a girl holding a flower in front of her face––Dahyun didn’t know how the only person who recognized it as Sana was Mrs. Son. 

 

(The older woman only knew because of Dahyun’s hatred for drawing portraits; the poor girl wouldn’t spend time on something she hated _unless_ it pertained to Sana).

 

The painting won first place. Dahyun was too scared to tell Sana about in fear that the girl would realize her crush and then push her away. Dahyun would do anything as long as she still had Sana. She would even deal with heartbreak everyday. 

 

Dahyun realized that the more time they spent apart, how often they were together. Her and Sana hung out whenever possible at school, and every day after. Saturday’s and Sunday’s were usually spent together as well––Dahyun saw Sana more than her own father, sometimes.

 

Dahyun felt a tap on her shoulder, so she looked up at Chaeyoung. 

 

“I have to tell you something.” Chaeyoung signed, nervousness on her face. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

 

“Not even Sana?” Dahyun replied. Sana and Dahyun were a package deal, one automatically came with the other.

 

“Not even Sana.” Chaeyoung signed back. Ok, this was probably really serious. Dahyun reluctantly nodded. 

 

Chaeyoung looked around anxiously, before quickly signing:

 

“I kissed Mina.” 

 

 _What?_  

 

“Huh?” Dahyun said aloud. 

 

Chaeyoung was already blushing profusely. “Well, she kissed me.”

 

Dahyun’s head was swimming with confusion. “I…I thought girls couldn’t kiss girls.” She signed back. 

 

Chaeyoung frowned. “Says who?”

 

Dahyun began to sign a response, but then stopped. 

 

 _Said who?_  

 

Said her brother. Said her father. Said her uncle. 

 

But not Sana. Sana said “ _we like whoever we like”._ And Chaeyoung, someone who actually kissed a girl, said so as well. 

 

So Dahyun didn’t really know anymore. She just stared at Chaeyoung, lost in confusion. 

 

Then she thought about kissing Sana. 

 

And...

 

_Wow._

 

Kissing Sana sounds like it would be really, really fun. She had never kissed anyone before––never really thought about it. But she Sana was beautiful, and kind, and caring, (and she did smell very good, always like vanilla—not that Dahyun noticed, or anything) so there was really no reason as to why Dahyun _wouldn’t_ want to kiss Sana. 

 

“I....I didn’t know that.” Dahyun finally signed back to Chaeyoung. 

 

“My mom said girls can like girls.” Chaeyoung signed, relief on her face from realizing Dahyun wasn’t going to get angry at her. “She told me that not everyone knows that, but it’s true.” That was what Chaeyoung was worried about most: her friends not believing her. 

 

Dahyun pursed her lips. She knew her mom would say so as well. It’s a shame she never got to hear it in person.

 

She wonders if that would’ve made all the difference.

 

“It’s really cool that you kissed Mina.” Dahyun signed, making an exaggerated kissy-face at Chaeyoung who giggled. 

 

Dahyun laughed along, smiling wide, genuinely happy for her friend. And the way Chaeyoung’s eyes lit up brightly, just from simply _thinking_ about Mina, made Dahyun realize something at a very inconvenient time:

 

She’s in love with Sana. 

 

 

_Fifteen_

 

It became a lot harder to be around Sana after Dahyun reached her realization. It didn’t help that Mina and Chaeyoung became “official”––holding hands in public, stealing meaningful glances at each other when they thought no one was looking, and even cuddling and _kissing_ in front of Sana and Dahyun when they were watching movies during a sleepover at Mina’s house. At least Sana was happy for them. When Sana was happy, Dahyun was happy too.

 

Every time Mina and Chaeyoung would show their affection for each other, Dahyun would look at Sana and just…sigh. She was still dating that boy, and they were really happy together. But Dahyun knew that she could make Sana so much happier than her _boyfriend_. She knew exactly how to make Sana laugh, and she knew all of her favorite Japanese poets, songs, and foods. Where Sana’s boyfriend could barely remember Sana’s birthday, Dahyun knew enough about Sana to fill twenty books. Whenever she saw Sana gently peck her boyfriend’s cheek, or wrap him in a crushing hug (those were always Dahyun’s favorite type of hug), her heart would break slightly, knowing Sana found something that Dahyun couldn’t offer her. 

 

Now, whenever Sana would reach for her hand, just casually, in a platonic way, Dahyun would pull away. She would ignore the hurt look in Sana’s eyes, because she knew if she let the other girl’s touch linger too long, Dahyun would burst into tears, reminded of how she wasn’t good enough for Sana.

 

She began to pull away from Sana in other areas too. Sometimes if Sana asked Dahyun if she wanted to come over after school, Dahyun would lie about having a lot of homework, just because she couldn’t bare to be alone with the girl anymore. What hurt the most was that Sana knew she was lying, but wouldn’t do anything about it. Every minute spent with Sana reminded Dahyun of her inadequacies. 

 

And then it was the ten year anniversary of Dahyun’s mother’s passing, and all of her problems with Sana faded into the background. Dahyun became numb.

 

It’s funny how Sana knew immediately––when Dahyun showed up to school in her pajamas, with baggy, puffy eyes and an impossibly quieter demeanor than usual. She had ditched her contacts for her old, chunky glasses, and her hair was a mess. Sana did everything right, too. At lunch, when Dahyun was on the brink of tears, Sana randomly signed some stupid joke she had learned (incorrectly, of course), and Dahyun genuinely laughed. Or how Sana gave up her brownie, her favorite part of her lunch, to give to Dahyun. Or even when Dahyun got back her biology test that she had gotten a B on, Sana showed hers to Dahyun, not caring that everyone else could see too, grinning widely at the big, red D- stamped on her paper. 

 

Sana knew how to make Dahyun feel better. Dahyun just wished she was able to do that for Sana.

 

“I’m sorry about your mother.” Sana finally signed as they walked home, just the two of them. Dahyun always told Sana about her mother when the girl asked, filling her head with fairytale-like stories. Dahyun had painted a portrait of her mother when she was thirteen, and it was hung proudly in her room. Dahyun’s love for her mother transcended life, and Sana had never met anyone with a capacity for love like Dahyun. It was just a shame that there weren’t enough people in her life to receive it. 

 

Dahyun nodded stiffly. She knows if she starts to think about it, she’ll simply break down, and she’s already too tired from crying so much. 

 

But then Sana’s gaze goes incredibly soft, and Dahyun is immediately reminded of her mother. Those warm, chocolate eyes that the two eerily shared. The resemblance overwhelms her, and finally breaks her. She’s reminded of the days her mother took her to the park (even though Dahyun always used to insist on being “too tired” to go) and she’s reminded of all the pretty flowers she would find. She would show them to her mother who would teach her all the names. And then she remembers meeting Sana, when her mother was still alive, and Dahyun considers those days the happiest of her life––with the two people she loved the most both in it. She remembers not understanding why her mother left and never came back, and she hates not being able to remember the last thing she said to her. She remembers how large the hole was in her heart as she grew up alone, and how throughout the years Sana slowly began to refill it. She thinks about how her mother may be gone, but now she has Sana, and she knows her mother would adore the girl as much as Dahyun does. It’s a combination of missing her mother and wishing she could’ve met Sana that breaks Dahyun––an insurmountable desire for happiness in her life.

 

And Dahyun’s tears finally catch up to her.

 

Loud sobs rack the girl’s broken body, and Sana is immediately there to hold her. Dahyun cries are loud and ugly––she doesn’t care about what she can’t hear––but their echoes will haunt Sana forever, keeping her up some nights, a physical reminder of the strongest pain in Dahyun’s life. It isn’t the pretty cry either, with a stoic tear silently cascading down Dahyun’s cheek; it’s the messy contortion of Dahyun’s features, the red, puffiness of her eyes, and the drool and snot that soaks into Sana’s sweater, absorbing all of Dahyun’s sobs. 

 

So Sana does the only thing she knows how to do:

 

She sings.

 

Sana’s voice doesn’t vibrate nearly as loud through Dahyun’s body as her sobs, but it brings both of them comfort, being able to connect like this. Sana begins to rock Dahyun gently, her sweet, soft voice slowly calming Dahyun’s focus. She begins to gently rake her nails through Dahyun’s hair, trying everything she can to bring the poor girl some peace. Dahyun breathes deeply, closing her eyes and focusing on the vibrations emanating from Sana. It’s so tender and loving, and just what Dahyun needed. Sana is really the only woman in Dahyun’s life. Sure there’s Mina and Chaeyoung and Mrs. Son, but none of them are as close to Dahyun as Sana is. Dahyun knows Sana will always be there.

 

Eventually Dahyun’s tears slow, her heaving sobs beginning to subside. She pulls away from Sana, snot running down her nose. Sana is quick with a tissue, instructing the Dahyun to blow her nose. Dahyun, embarrassed, follows the Japanese girl’s motherly instructions.

 

Sana’s eyes are filled with worry, and when Dahyun slowly meets her gaze, only one thought screams through the Japanese girl’s head:

 

She cares about Dahyun more than anyone else. More than everyone else.

 

 

 

_Sixteen_

 

Sana breaks up with her boyfriend the day before Dahyun’s sixteenth birthday, and although the Korean girl would never admit it, it’s the best present she could ever ask for. 

 

But on top of that, Sana gets her a small sketchbook, about the size of Dahyun’s palm. 

 

On the first page, in Sana’s perfect, Japanese handwriting: 

 

_Something small for you to carry, for whenever beauty finds you._

 

It almost brings tears to Dahyun’s eyes, but the first thing she can do is sign to Sana, “I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”

 

Sana easily rolls her eyes and brushes it off. (Her feelings toward him were never actually that strong. Whenever she was with him, her mind always wandered to Dahyun: What was she doing right now? Was she ok? Why did Sana miss her so much?). 

 

“I don’t need him when I have you.” Sana replies, causing Dahyun to blush, playfully kissing her best friend’s cheek. They already slipped into how it was before the boyfriend. It felt good. 

 

It’s a lazy Sunday for them, just past noon. Dahyun’s brother finally went off to college, so Dahyun got especially lonely. Her father was watching television downstairs, leaving the two girls alone. 

 

It felt nice, finally getting to spend alone time together. Ever since high school started, Sana and Dahyun didn’t often get to hang out, by themselves, no boyfriend, no Mina and Chaeyoung. It was just the two of them—just how Dahyun liked it. 

 

“What do you want to do?” Dahyun signed to Sana. 

 

“It’s _your_ birthday.” The girl replied with a laugh. 

 

Dahyun was honestly happy doing anything as long as Sana was doing it with her. (Unless it involved heights, to which Dahyun would not be happy). But then she started to think about what she wanted to do, and being alone with Sana again, a wave of nostalgia washed over her, and there was really only one thing she could think of. 

 

“Let’s go to the park.”

 

***

 

The walk over was quiet (how Dahyun preferred) but Sana would occasionally nudge her shoulder with a smile so bright it was impossible for it not to spread to Dahyun’s face.

 

Then they were at the park. Dahyun remembered every aspect of it––nothing had changed: from the rusted, red swings to the old, wooden picnic tables to the shady oak tree (where her mother used to sit)––the park remained untouched. It was the only part of Dahyun’s life that didn’t grow up with her; it was still a child, in a world of its own.

 

And it warmed her soul seeing it full of children.

 

It brought smiles to both girls’ faces, watching the cheerful kids frolic around aimlessly in the park. Sana instinctually reached for Dahyun’s hand. The happiness coursing through Sana’s veins had to be shared with Dahyun. 

 

They walked around a bit, watching the kids run circles around them, and the only way Dahyun could describe it was domestic. She would glance over at Sana, who was already preoccupied with the excited little kids around her. They were naturally drawn to her (much like Dahyun was all those years ago), entranced by the girl’s impossibly bright radiance. Sana’s smile was as wide as theirs, and Dahyun always knew Sana loved being around small children. They shares the same bubbly, giggly personality that had turned Dahyun’s whole life around.

 

Sana excitedly nudged Dahyun’s shoulder, pulling the girl’s gaze away from a patch of flowers, to get her to notice the little girl standing below them. The girl waved up at them enthusiastically, and Dahyun’s heart grew big as she watched Sana wave back. They began talking, and Dahyun could somewhat tell it was about horses. She wasn’t quite sure of the exact topic, with both girls talking so fast, but then the child ran off.

 

Sana led Dahyun to where she had been wanting to go all along: the small patch of grass near the edge of the park. It disappointed Dahyun that none of the kids were over here, but she smiled knowing that this would always be her and Sana’s spot. They sat down, amidst the flowers still growing tall, and Sana leaned her head against Dahyun’s shoulder, hands still intertwined in Dahyun’s lap.

 

It made Dahyun want to go back more than anything. To the Wednesday’s where her mother would take her to the park, to the days where she would  look at flowers with Sana––no death, no boyfriend, no sexuality—to where she’d just sit with Sana and look at flowers, never getting bored.

 

Dahyun always liked when Sana’s head lay near her chest. It was the closest she ever felt to the girl; sometimes she could feel Sana’s heartbeat or soft breaths echoing into her own chest. Sana’s hand was still holding Dahyun’s, and she began to play with the Korean girl’s fingers.

 

Dahyun noticed a pink flower in front of her and pointed at it.

 

“It’s beautiful.” Sana said, and Dahyun felt the girl’s words. 

 

Dahyun nodded. “You’re beautiful.” She said aloud, (usually Dahyun would never say something as bold as this, no matter how in love with Sana she was. But this moment was so peaceful and relaxing and _real,_ that it was impossible for Dahyun to lie any longer).

 

Sana’s only response was to squeeze her hand lightly. She looked up at Dahyun, and their faces were incredibly close. Dahyun never got used to seeing Sana this close––she took every possible second to memorize the girl’s features. (She knew she’d be staying up late tonight to draw them, not trusting her memory enough. And besides, something as beautiful as Sana deserved to be permanent). 

 

They continued to stare into each other’s eyes, not saying anything.

 

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend.” Dahyun said softly. Why that came to her mind before anything else, she didn’t know. She couldn’t think at all with Sana being this close, and it just slipped out.

 

“No you’re not.” Sana replied with a chuckle, still not moving away from Dahyun. She continued to hold Dahyun’s hand, but with her free hand, she reached up and gently placed it on Dahyun’s cheek.

 

Then Sana leaned in to place a quick peck on the corner of Dahyun’s mouth, like she had done countless times before. But with the way Sana’s nose lightly brushed against Dahyun’s cheek and her hand held Dahyun close screamed in Dahyun’s mind that this was so much more than a “simple peck”. Sana smelled like peppermint and vanilla and everything Dahyun had ever associated with the girl and she was sure that if it wasn’t for Sana holding her, she would have floated off from pure happiness.

 

Sana pulled away as soon as she leaned in––the moment too short for the both of them. 

 

It was just a simple peck, characterized by hesitation and embarrassment, but when Sana pulled away, both were grinning like idiots. 

 

 _I love you_ , Dahyun finally thought, the kiss proving what she already knew. Dahyun had loved this girl since they were little children, it was only now that she fully recognized it as more than platonic. 

 

They didn’t say anything––they didn’t have to. Sana just squeezed Dahyun’s hand harder and returned to her original position buried in the crook of the Dahyun’s neck. Dahyun knew her heart was beating loud enough for Sana to hear, but she was too ecstatic to care. 

 

With her free hand, she pulled out her sketchbook and a pen, and drew the first flower she saw.

 

 

 

_Seventeen_

 

Surprisingly, neither brought up the kiss after it happened. It was a combination of their shy personalities and fear that the other regretted it or thought nothing of it. 

 

It hurt Dahyun a lot, to be honest. She was her most vulnerable when she was around Sana, and it felt like Sana just rejected her. She felt like she had overthought everything, really. But the way Sana looked at her, and the way Sana held her close told Dahyun that it was more than a friendly kiss.

 

But there she goes again, always overthinking when it came to Sana.  

 

Then this awkward tension settled between them, and even Mina and Chaeyoung (who were still dating—they were like _soulmates_ or something) noticed something was off. 

 

Whenever the four hung out, it was like Sana and Dahyun placed this imaginary wall in between them, and neither would cross it. They wouldn’t even look at each other either, but Chaeyoung and Mina noticed how they would frequently try to sneak glances. 

 

It became all too annoying one day when they were at the library, the air thick with awkward tension. 

 

Surprisingly, Mina was the one who called them out first. 

 

“Seriously, what is wrong with you two?” She signed animatedly, clear frustration on her features. 

 

Neither Dahyun or Sana responded, but they quickly glanced at each other. 

 

“Like that!” Mina pointed. “What’s up with that?”

 

“With what?” Dahyun replied, gaze lowered. 

 

“Did you get in a fight or something?” Chaeyoung piped in, just as worried about her best friends as Mina.

 

Sana shook her head no, and glanced over at Dahyun. “I’ve just been stressed lately.” She signs, not a complete lie, but not revealing why. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize.” Dahyun’s features immediately softened. She reached for Sana’s hand––it was a bit awkward as she fumbled for it (Sana almost pulled away)––but then the Japanese girl smiled softly. 

 

Mina and Chaeyoung seemed satisfied enough to leave them alone for the rest of the day, but Dahyun could see the heartbreak in Sana’s eyes (and she was sure it was reflected in her own).

 

This couldn’t go on any longer. They had to talk. And soon.

 

***

 

Dahyun had qualified for a national Korean art competition, and the showcase was tonight. 

 

Everyone who was anything in the Korean art industry was going to be there, and Dahyun was allowed to bring one guest.

 

Of course she chose Sana. 

 

But in no way was Dahyun prepared for when she saw Sana approach her in the gallery, wearing a slimming, black, strapless gown. Her hair was pulled neatly to one side, and her makeup was minimal. She had a simple locket on (the one Dahyun gave her on her fourteenth birthday of course) and black earrings. The way Sana’s dark, silky hair cascaded naturally across her pale, sharp collarbone was beautiful enough to inspire Dahyun for decades. 

 

She was left speechless––like the first time she met Sana: unsure if this girl was even real.

 

She numbly signed “thank you for coming”, trying her hardest not to trail her gaze down Sana’s body.  

 

She looked gorgeous. Beautiful. Amazing. Stunning. The list of adjectives could go on. 

 

Then Sana’s adorable, contagious smile spread across her face, and she pulled Dahyun into a crushing hug. 

 

“I’m so happy for you!” She signed animatedly, before pulling Dahyun into another hug. She then reached into her purse and handed Dahyun an envelope.

 

“Read it right before the awards ceremony.” Sana instructed carefully. Dahyun nodded and placed the letter into her back pocket, already burning with curiosity.

 

“Can you show me around?” Sana signed, already looping her arm with Dahyun’s. The Korean girl nodded with a blush, trying to ignore Sana’s constant ability to invade all her senses and make her lightheaded (in a good way).

 

Whether Sana was genuinely interested in the art or she was just doing it for Dahyun never crossed the girl’s mind, because with the way her eyes widened at some of the pieces, and she asked stylistic questions, Dahyun didn’t ever doubt her interest. 

 

“Yours are still the best though.” Sana signed, causing Dahyun to roll her eyes.

 

It was all hitting her at once that this was a national competition. The best of the best in Korea. She was honored just to be nominated, really.

 

With Sana by her side, genuinely interested in the art, Dahyun lost track of time, and she was almost late to the award ceremony. Dahyun got to sit up front with other nominees, while Sana had to remain in the back, and Dahyun took it as a perfect time to open the letter:

 

_Kim Dahyun,_

 

_There isn’t enough room on this piece of paper for me to express what I want to say, so I’m sorry for writing so small (I know your eyesight is terrible). I just wanted to say how proud I am of you for coming so far in your artistic journey. I know art is your greatest passion, and to see you thrive brings me indescribable joy. I know your mother would be so proud, too. (Side note, I also want to thank you for being my very first friend. From the day we met, you were always kinder to me than the other kids, and I am grateful for having you in my life. I don’t know what I would do without you.)_

_Anyway, today marks an important landmark in your artistic career, and I am honored to be a part of it. You are the kindest soul I know, and you deserve nothing less. Win or lose tonight, I want you to know how talented you are, how proud I am, and how much I love you._

 

_Yours Truly,_

_Minatozaki Sana_

 

 

Tears began to well in Dahyun’s eyes, and she had trouble reading through her blurry vision. She looked up, scanning the crowd for Sana, but she couldn’t find the girl.

 

 _I love you_. 

 

Dahyun’s heart grew impossibly full at Sana’s words, but she was interrupted from her thoughts by a tap on her shoulder. One of the other contestants was looking excitedly at her mouthing the words…

 

_...You won?_

 

Dahyun looked around, and all eyes were on her. 

 

_She won?_

 

_She won!_

 

Dahyun stood up, walking towards the stage, body on complete auto-pilot. She didn’t realize she was still holding Sana’s letter, and as she made her way on stage, she continued to look through the crowd for her best friend.

 

The art director handed her the award with a bow, and she almost forgot to return the gesture.

 

Dahyun hadn’t prepared a speech (and if she had, she wouldn’t be able to remember it with the way Sana’s letter completely occupied her thought process).

 

So she made one up on the spot. It was slow, and she was incredibly nervous speaking in front of everyone, but then…

 

Then she saw Sana.

 

And then the tears in her eyes. 

 

Dahyun knew Sana’s tears were of joy, and it only furthered her love for the girl.

 

Dahyun took the microphone, and spoke slowly, not caring at all about how she sounded:

 

“I’d like to thank my family for supporting me, and my art teacher, Mrs. Son for teaching me all I know. But I would like to give a special thanks to my best friend for inspiring me to be who I am today. I don’t know what I would do without you, Sana.”

 

Dahyun didn’t remember anything after that.

 

***

 

They finally found each other after the ceremony, and Sana was still crying. She expressed her pride and congratulations in illogical, excited sign, and Dahyun could only laugh with pure happiness.

 

(The award wasn’t why she was happy).

 

They hugged for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, but this time, neither wanted to pull away.

 

An idea began to fill Dahyun’s mind––one that had been there for a long time, but was pushed back due to her preoccupation with tonight’s competition. That was over. Since Sana was being so honest, it was time Dahyun was too.

 

“Sana.” She said, pulling away. “I have to tell you something.”

 

Dahyun spoke––she practiced this whole spiel in the mirror countless times, trying not to fumble so badly over her words. This was so important to her, she wanted Sana to hear it.

 

“Are you ok?” Worry spread over the girl’s face as she noticed Dahyun’s nervousness.

 

“Sana.” Dahyun swallowed. She shut her eyes, trying to push the words out. They were getting stuck again, like they always had when she was little. Stuck and refusing to come out. 

 

She pushed through.

  
“Sana, I love you.” She spoke. “I love you more than a friend, more than you might love me, and that would be ok, but I can’t stop denying myself this truth. Minatozaki Sana, I am in love with you.”

 

Dahyun finally opened her eyes and exhaled. Relief spread over her, finally admitting the secret truth she had held within herself for four years: her love for Sana. There was no nervousness, no anticipation for Sana’s reaction. She was too mentally exhausted to care. She played all her cards; there was nothing more she could do. 

 

Sana didn’t say anything. 

 

Instead, she gazed into Dahyun’s eyes for what felt like minutes, before crashing their lips together.

 

Dahyun had always been slow to react, but somehow, this felt so natural, so expected, that Dahyun easily kissed back.

 

Sana’s lips were soft and warm and she tasted like that peppermint chapstick and her vanilla perfume, and everything just felt so _right_.

 

Her hand reached up to cup Dahyun’s cheek, and Dahyun’s hands naturally settled on Sana’s waist. Neither cared that they were in a public place, let alone _in Korea_ ; both were too in love to care about anything but each other. 

 

“I love you too.” Sana said, and Dahyun didn’t have to read her lips to understand her words; Sana’s eyes said it all. Her lips returned to Dahyun’s––these kisses were making up for the four (five for Sana) years wasted on denying their true feelings. 

 

There wasn’t enough time in the world for Dahyun to express her love for Sana.

 

“The girl,” Dahyun finally pulled away, “the girl in my painting that won tonight––“

 

“––I know,” Sana giggled. “I know who she was.”

 

The painting was of a girl, but she had no face; instead, flowers exploded out of her head, forming elaborate designs on the canvas. 

 

Dahyun smiled. 

 

It was Sana. 

 

It had always been Sana.

 

It will always be Sana.

 

 

 

_Eighteen_

 

Sana and Dahyun wasted no time making it “official” after the art competition. Mina and Chaeyoung weren’t even surprised––their only response was, “finally”.

 

Sana and Dahyun kissed. _A lot_.

 

It was hard sometimes, especially around Dahyun’s family, but whenever they were at Sana’s house, they wasted no time making up their lost minutes on Sana’s bed.

 

Sometimes things got _too heated_ , and Dahyun had to urge the girl to slow down. She always felt the need to tell Sana that it was more than just kissing for her––Dahyun’s love for Sana was more than just sexual pleasure.

 

Kissing was fun, and it did feel _really_ good, but Dahyun’s heart grew full doing simple things with Sana: cooking together, or just watching TV. Dahyun was happy drawing quietly while Sana read, as long as they were in each other’s company.

 

Sana would always pout at Dahyun’s “cheesy” response. The girl was physical, and it was how she expressed her love.

 

And Dahyun could never really say no to Sana.

 

Things didn’t change that much after the kiss: Sana and Dahyun had acted like an old married couple since middle school, according to Mina and Chaeyoung.

 

The only change now was the increase in trust. With both being completely honest with each other, it brought the two impossibly closer. 

 

And then it was time for college.

 

Dahyun didn’t know why Sana was so nervous, her musical talent was unprecedented. (Dahyun pulled Chaeyoung aside one day and asked her what Sana sounded like. Through extended, over-the-top metaphors about birds singing and mother nature tearing up, Mina was the one who finally told Dahyun that she was good. Like, _really good_ ). 

 

Sana auditioned at countless music schools, but her heart was set on one. It was close to where Dahyun would be attending art school, and it was right near Seoul. 

 

When the admissions letter came in the mail, Sana refused to open it, so she made Dahyun do it.

 

Dahyun hated to be the one to deliver potentially soul-crushing news to the person she loved most, but she didn’t have to worry. She knew full heartedly that Sana would get accepted.

 

And she did.

 

Sana seemed to always cry the most when she was happy, and Dahyun promised herself that if she were ever to make the girl cry, it would only be out of happiness.

 

And then she kissed Dahyun, hard and meaningful, because whenever Sana’s happiness overflowed her own capacity, she had to physically share it with someone else.

 

The kisses got deeper and deeper, and Sana was overcome with joy. Then Dahyun’s shirt was off, and then Sana’s own. 

 

They eventually stopped before it could get too heated, but Dahyun could get used to falling asleep in Sana’s arms.

 

***

 

Everything in Sana and Dahyun’s shared life revolved around the park.

 

It was where they met, where they became friends, where Dahyun realized she wanted to grow old with Sana, and now, the last place they said goodbye too before graduation.

 

They walked silently through the familiar park, reminiscing on everything they shared here together. Sana’s hand was impossibly warm in Dahyun’s own. She squeezed it gently.

 

There were the benches, and the oak tree, and the grassy field, and everything was still the same. It would never change.

 

They reached _their spot_ , and Dahyun smiled, remembering something.

 

“Do you remember when we first met?” She signed.

 

Sana grinned. “Yeah, I asked for my ball and you just stared at me like I was stupid.”

 

“I couldn’t understand you!” Dahyun playfully argued.

 

“And then the next time, you just yelled at me. You’re lucky I put up with you.” Sana laughed now, wrapping her arm around Dahyun’s neck and kissing her cheek.

 

Dahyun could only bite her lip. Sana was right. 

 

“I love you.” Dahyun signed, and Sana smiled wider.

 

“I know.” She signed back. “You tell me everyday.”

 

“Well I love you everyday.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

It was fitting to end this chapter of Dahyun’s life where it essentially began. 

 

In the park.

 

With the love of her life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!!! :)


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